Chapter Six

Clara had at least three panic attacks as she packed, throwing necessities into a duffle and then unpacking, only to repack, only to unpack once again. She'd barely managed to pull herself together when Tito's family returned from the hospital, and sitting down to explain that she had to leave was…difficult. She couldn't tell them her plan, not really, but she promised them that it was for the best. She promised that it was a necessary evil, that she would return and Aetius would get better and everything would be fine.

They were hard-pressed to believe her, but she wasn't their responsibility: they let her go with strained smiles of false understanding.

And now she was here, standing at one of the many docks and staring up at the sharp angles of a turian frigate: Actium was painted in sleek white lettering along its dark, metallic hull. Her breath caught in her chest. This was more than she had ever expected to see, in all her life, and even though she had been living on a space station for the last 15 months, it all felt so normal. This was a ship – a ship that would travel from system to system at FTL speeds, protected by GUARDIAN lasers, and suddenly she was completely and totally overwhelmed.

"You're on time," Nihlus said from behind her, the sudden appearance making her heart leap up in her throat. She turned and watched as he walked past her and into the ship – his ship. Christ on a bike, she was going on a ship with Nihlus Kryik and even though she hated the bastard the fangirl inside of her that had been muffled for months came back full force. She barely kept from squealing as she scrambled after him, duffle thrown over her shoulder.

(It was strange, realizing that just over a year ago she would have had difficulty carting the bag around one-handed. If she had known coming to a different universe would force her to work out like this, she would have done it sooner.)

Nihlus seemed to ignore her as he lead her through the ship, so different and yet so similar to the layout she knew of the SSV Normandy, a ship that hadn't even been created yet. She ignored the curious turian eyes that lingered on her as she passed, crossing her fingers and praying that everything would go smoothly.

After taking a set of stairs down to a lower level, Nihlus directed her to a door. Within was a sizeable room, two bunks pressed against the walls. There was another turian in the room, and a quick glance at the shorter fringe and slighter frame told her it was a female.

"Meriones." Nihlus barked. The turian straightened immediately, saluting the Spectre.

"Kryik, sir."

"This is Clara Johnson," he continued, and the females eyes darted to Clara curiously. "She's a specialist regarding Cerberus. I'm leaving you in charge of escorting her around the ship until she proves useful."

Clara scowled at the insult, while Meriones appeared completely unfazed as she nodded. "Sir."

Nihlus turned and left, and Clara swallowed down her anxiety as Meriones stared her down with bright blue eyes. Her plates were dark – near black – and the contrast of her sparse white colony marks was intense. There was something oddly beautiful about the female, and it took all Clara had to stop staring.

"The top bunk on the left is open." Meriones said, breaking the silence. Clara smiled.

"Thank you. I, um. I've never been on a ship before. I'm a bit out of my league." She admitted. Meriones' face remained impassive, only serving to set Clara on edge even more.

"If Kryik wants you on this ship, then you're useful," she said calmly, watching with hawk-like eyes as Clara tossed her bag onto her bunk. "This is a small ship, so we all double up on duties. Until we figure out what you're supposed to do, stay out of the way."

Though her words were harsh, her tone wasn't: she was simply stating facts. Clara could appreciate that, even if it left a bad taste in her mouth. She nodded, running her hands over her biceps as she tried to figure out what she was supposed to do with herself. Meriones seemed to take pity on her. "I'll show you around the ship, introduce you to everyone," she offered. "If you're going to be here, the crew is going to have to get used to seeing you around. Nihlus rarely brings a human on board, and he never brings someone who isn't of value."

Clara swallowed and nodded, suddenly acutely aware of the pressure placed directly on her shoulders. Christ, what had she gotten herself into? She barely had a chance to think over what Meriones had said before the turian was brushing past her, forcing Clara to turn on her heels and follow. She ignored the curious glances of other turians, and she was struck with the realization that BioWare really hadn't done the race justice. All through the game, turians had the same basic colour schemes: earthy tones, tans and greys, paired with the same three facial markings. While they were generally accurate, here and up close she could see the shades of colours that reflected in their plates, the subtle hues that helped differentiate one turian from another. On the Citadel, they had all looked the same: brown plates, dark eyes. Here, she could tell they were from all over Palaven – possibly all over the universe. It made her feel incredibly small.

For the first time since her initial arrival on the Citadel all those months ago, Clara felt horribly and truly out of her depth.

...

The Actium functioned on a skeleton crew at all times, and there were only eleven main crew members on board. Nihlus made twelve, and Clara was the new number thirteen. (She was very much aware that this was either an omen of things to come, or a sick cosmic joke.) Aside from the main group there were only 7 other turians on board, and Clara never once saw them deviate from their jobs long enough to chat. Not that she did much chatting on board anyway.

She had seen them all somewhere or another but had yet to talk to any of them outside of the brief introduction Meriones provided. In some cases, she was thankful for that; the navigator, Nestor, was a gruff turian who acted like the Relay 314 Incident just ended yesterday. Meriones took pity on Clara and ushered her away before Nestor could dream of sucking her in to his anti-Alliance rant, staring Clara as the main offender. Tydeus, the pilot, was just as bad but for a totally different reason. He had reached the "old gossipy" stage of his life, and if was only with Meriones' warning that she managed to avoid giving him many juicy gossip to spread about. He was a good pilot, though. That's why Nihlus kept him on board.

After that, she was pushed to the side and left to settle in on her own. It was now one week since departure: one week, and Nihlus was only just talking to her about training. She didn't want to ask questions, didn't want to widen the already significant divide between them, but she wanted to know so badly what they were going to do. Was it going to be like Mass Effect, except instead of answering messages from the Alliance they would be zooming around the galaxy at the Hierarchies will? Or were they completely independent, no influence from anywhere but the Council? Nihlus' colony marks were very similar to the turian councilors, perhaps they knew each other?

(Except, that was a completely stupid thought because Aetius had told her that similar facial markings didn't mean they were related, it didn't even mean they knew each other, and why was it she had forgotten all that Tito had taught her?)

Nihlus came in, forcing her from her thoughts, and she could tell that this was going to be a long day. He was gruff, eyes sharp and mandibles pressed tightly to his face; it was clear that the spectre was in a horrible mood. She swallowed down any anxiety and stood in the cargo hold, stretching her muscles and making sure she wasn't a ball of tension when he finally decided to start things out.

God, what had she gotten herself into?

"You mentioned you had some training," Nihlus finally barked, sharp green eyes piercing into her. "How much?"

Clara paused mid-stretch to run her fingers through her hair and toss the annoying strands into a ponytail. "Ti – Aetius drilled me for about a year, said he was using standard turian military drills. Before he –" She stopped, swallowed, and continued. "Before the attack, he said that there wasn't anything else he could teach me."

"What was his training?" Nihlus demanded. Clara shrugged.

"Standard military training, I guess," she answered, suddenly aware that she knew very little about Tito's life before her. "He kept in shape because of his job. He was a good fighter."

"That tells me absolutely nothing," He growled, and Clara was starting to really regret making this deal with him. She didn't know who spat in his cheerios, but she had a feeling that all this anger was going to wind up putting her in the med bay. "We're sparring. Come at me with all you have. I'll figure out what I'm supposed to do with you from there."

Clara took a deep, anxious breath and let it out. She swallowed down her anxiety as she fell into position, her arms loose and at the ready while Nihlus just stood there as if he had a thousand better things to do today.

Her temper flared. She struck out. Nihlus deflected the hit easily, smacking her hand aside and countering with a quick jab of his fingers to her gut. She grunted as she twisted to avoid the hit, lifting her foot to catch his jaw only to find his hand at her foot, twisting her and slamming her to the mat. She didn't let him hold her, pulling herself free with a clever twist and jumping back to her feet.

His face was impassive as she lashed out again, fist to his face, and dodged at the last second. She kicked out, hoping to catch his waist, but he anticipated that. He grabbed her calf and pushed her back, an amused gleam to his eyes as she stumbled and nearly fell. She tried to reel in her temper, tried to stay impassive, and instead of throwing herself at him blindly she lashed out with a timed strike to his throat. Nihlus weaved away, and before she could even hope to turn and counter, he slammed his fist into her side. She collapsed backward with a gasp, pain making her head spin, and she was barely aware enough to roll out of the way of his follow up attack. She pushed herself to her feet, and lunged. Her fist clipped his shoulder, and she didn't even have to see his face to know that he was done toying around.

He lashed out now, his moves clear and precise and so much more than any of the hits she had sent his way. He was a complete level above her: he was a god, and she a mere mortal with illusions of grandeur. Any hope she had of beating his ego was shattered with a fist to the gut, a three-fingered hand grabbing the back of her neck and forcing her to her knees. She was down. She cursed, but the feel of his talons pressing to the delicate skin above her jugular forced her to pause.

"That was pathetic," he said, his grip keeping her from meeting his gaze. "You know the moves, you know the logic, but you don't know the rhythm. Obviously, Aetius wasn't as good as you thought."

The snarl that slipped from her lips surprised her, but he didn't even flinch. He released her and she fell to her back on mat, chest heaving as she brought in gulps of air. He didn't even look fazed.

"We start tomorrow with the basics," he ordered as he turned and abandoned the room. "It's going to take time before you can even think of joining the drop team."

The door slid closed behind him, and it took all Clara had to keep the tears of aggravation from falling. What had she gotten herself into? She sighed and started the irritating process of cataloguing her injuries: a split lip, a thin gash on her forehead, several bruises along her arms, scratches on her throat from his talons, a mean bruise on her gut. God, she'd never been this battered before in her life.

"You should go see Sorthem in the med bay," a flanging voice said. Clara span around as quickly as her bruised body would allow and spotted Ajax. He was stocky, even for a turian, with dark brown plates and ornate cream-coloured markings. He didn't talk much, and according to Meriones he was the shuttle pilot and an engineer who kept to the cargo hold, elbow deep in the insides of the shiny new IFV.

"I'm fine," she murmured, pressing her hand to her eye only to grimace.

"Kryik will only go harder on you if he see's you aren't takin' care of yourself," he explained, turning back to the vehicle. "Sorthem'll patch you up. Makes a good impression if you keep yourself in fightin' shape."

Part of Clara wanted to argue that she wasn't even on the register, that she wasn't part of the drop team and that there was a huge chance that she wouldn't ever be a part of the ground team. Not when Nihlus seemed intent on keeping her useless. But Ajax made a good point, and her ribs did feel sore. With a sigh she pushed herself up, wincing as her arms protested.

Sorthem was a salarian, the only one on the ship, with mottle green and blue skin and large purple eyes. He was one of two medical officers on call, and the necessity of two doctors made Clara wonder just how many injuries fell on the crew. To his credit, Sorthem was good – he was no Mordin as far as Clara could tell, but he was always quick and concise. Even if he did talk your ear off the whole time you were on the bed.

"Ah, Miss Johnson," he greeted, turning to face her with rapidly-blinking eyes. "I wondered how long it would take for you to come up here."

She quirked a brow as she continued into the room, wincing as she pushed herself up onto the slab, "You expected me today?"

"Kryik was in a noticeably bad mood," he explained, stepping forward to examine the abrasions on her face. "You are the only one on board known to aggravate him like this. Also, Ajax called ahead to give me time to prepare."

Clara murmured complaints under her breath as the salarian dabbed at the more painful injuries on her forehead, cleaning away the blood that had stained the surrounding skin. His moves were quick and efficient, but still firm enough to cause her to wince.

"You're either very brave or very stupid," another voice toned in, causing Clara to jump. She winced as pain shot through her ribs and murmured an apology at Sorthem, who sent her a chastising look. She turned her head slowly, ignoring the salarians exploring hands as he catalogued her wounds.

"I'm inclined to agree with you," she responded, throwing the white-plated turian a smile.

Peleus was this ships version of Doctor Chakwas – that was the best way Clara could explain him. She believed the official title was Chief Medical Officer. He was also the most recognizable crew member. From what she had learned, his eyes used to be reddish-pink and his colony marks were tattooed in deep red to match them. Now, his eyes were replaced with the strange white-blue implants that Clara had only ever seen in the Illusive Man. He didn't talk about it much, but Clara knew enough to know what had happened – there was no way Peleus could have been a medic, not when his eyes were failing. It came down to finding a new job, giving up the one thing he enjoyed, or shelling out for a procedure that could either render him blind or give him the one thing he needed.

Clara liked him, if only for that. It spoke endlessly about his character. Albinism was extremely rare in turian society, and in most cases came with extreme complications due to Palaven's increased radiation levels. Few ever survived infancy. Peleus had been born on the Citadel, though, and the moment they realized returning to Palaven was a risk they set up shop there. He was exempted from traditional boot cam, the risk of exposure on Palaven way too high, but that didn't keep him from doing his part. She didn't know how old he was, nor how long he had been on the Actium, but she knew that he'd spent years learning his trade.

She knew, if Tito were here, they would have gotten along.

"Did you backtalk?" Peleus asked, and though his tone was friendly his eyes still set her on edge.

"Only a little."

Peleus shook his head, mandibles flickering in chastisement. "Nihuls already doesn't like you. Maybe you should try not talking?"

"Right," she drawled, flinching away as Sorthem poked at her ribs. "Because that's something I'm capable of."

"Maybe you should consider it when he has his talons at your throat," he countered just as quickly, looking pointedly at the angry red lines.

"Three bruised ribs," Sorthem interrupted, pulling back with another rapid blinking session. "Peleus is right. Next time, Kryik may just decapitate you completely."

It was a joke – she could tell by his stupid little salarian smile – but it did little to make her feel better. In fact, it even made her feel a little sick.

Thankfully Peleus was slightly more in-tune with her emotions and came to her rescue. "As long as you show that you can actually pull your weight, Nihlus will leave you alone. Or at least stop beating you up so badly."

"I can't pull my weight until I know what I'm supposed to do," she protested.

"Have you spoken with the XO?"

Clara groaned, and this time it wasn't due to pain. "Nestor hates me. Every time I even make a move to talk to him he just darts away. Either that or he glares at me until I decide that going to my room is way more interesting. And less fatal."

"I would suggest talking to Nestor," Sorthem interjected, "Kryik placed him in charge of the schedules. He will know where you are needed."

"He'll probably put me on latrine duty," Clara murmured. Neither disagreed, and it only made her stomach sink faster.

"You're good to go," Sorthem finally said, and she pulled down her shirt. "Go talk to Nestor."

The medics fixed her with firm gazes, Peleus' infinitely more effective than Sorthem's, and that was what pressed her to trudge her way from the med bay to the CIC. Nihlus was nowhere in sight, no doubt in his quarters grumbling and planning various ways to make her suffer, and the navigator stood there in all his old, crotchety, turian glory. He was focused on a datapad, reading through something no doubt important. (An amused part of her noted that the orange glow of the pad matched the colour of his markings almost perfectly). The moment she approached his gaze flickered up and focused on her.

"What?" he demanded sharply, lowering the pad. "Yes, we have a stock of levo food supplies, and if you don't like Salarian rations then you're just going to have to get used to it. I don't know how they pamper their soldiers on Alliance ships, but we don't have time to stop and get you something special."

Clara bristled and took a deep breath in through her nose, trying to keep her temper. "Actually, I was hoping you could put me down for some sort of duty, so I could pitch my own weight."

Nestor stared at her long and hard, evaluating her, and for a horrible moment she thought he was going to turn her away. Finally, he spoke.

"Are you good with tech?" he asked. Clara hesitated. Was she? She had been back in 2012, she'd worked with tech all the time, and she'd worked her ass off when she came here. Considering the huge technological gap, her quick adaption had to speak for something. Right?

"Yeah," she said finally, "Yeah. I'm good with tech."

"Lycia's been looking for an extra hand," he said. "She's in engineering. I'll send her a message to let her know you're on your way down."

Nestor turned his back to her, turning his eyes back to his data pad, and Clara took that as a chance to escape.

The trip to engineering was quick – though elevators were an option, emergency stairwells connected each level. Technically speaking the stairs were supposed to remain clear, but she preferred to use them. More work, yes, but it was so much faster that it was laughable. She had always thought that the elevators simply moved slowly because the game needed to load, but this was almost ridiculous. 160 years in the future and they couldn't even make a decent elevator.

Lycia was the only other female on bored, and while she was technically Clara's other room mate she spent so much of her time with the engines that she had her own cot set up by the controls. She was easily the smallest turian on ship, and Clara could only imagine that had aided her in mastering her craft – slim fingers made it easier to finagle with the various bits and bobs that kept the frigate afloat.

"You must be Clara," Lycia said as the door slid shut, turning away from the screen to offer her a smile. "Nestor warned me you were coming."

"Warned?" Clara asked hesitantly. Lycia laughed.

"Don't sound so nervous. He may be as bigoted as a salarian during mating season, but he's the only one. Nihlus doesn't tolerate any sort of that nonsense on ship, not when he's got his sights set on a potential new spectre," She glanced away slyly. "Not that I'm supposed to know that."

Clara relaxed significantly, offering the female a smile, "Thanks. I'm still so new to all this, settling in is rough work."

Lycia waved her off, "It's difficult for everyone at first, don't worry about it. Now, Nestor said you had some tech abilities?"

"I mean, I'm no where near good enough to maintain a ship," Clara quickly clarified. "But, before I – I've improved really quickly in a short span of time, and I have some basic knowledge. If you're willing to teach me, then I'm more than willing to help."

Lycia looked at her for a long moment, pressing a finger to her mouth as she considered. Clara resisted the urge to fidget, even knowing that the turian seemed to at least like her a little. It was clear that Lycia had a very clear division between personal and professional opinion.

"Alright," she nodded. "Alright. I'll give you a try. If you've got any knack for this, it'll show, and I'll train you. If you don't, no skin off my back. Nestor'll just find you something else to do."

The thought alone was enough to solidify her will, her determination to do this. Walking back and looking Nestor in his pale-plated face, defeated and living up to every low-opinion he held of the human race, was not an option.

...

A/N: And we have the crew! Hopefully I've painted some interesting pictures and provided you with some colourful characters to catch your attention. Don't worry, I don't bog you down with a whole lot of OC explanations and background stories and just...irritating things. I just give you the characters as they are. You can infer your own explanations as to how they act, because unless it becomes relevant I wont say.

Except for Peleus. I love that fucker.

Lots of Love;

B.E. Nomads.